My Thermos Cup
by Lord Eraendall
Summary: Second Chapter is now up. Add the beginnings of an overzealous inquisitor, and a rather attractive nurse and a rather short life expectancy of a guardsmen and...you got problems. And even more weirder ...this isn't a comedy...
1. Chapter 1

My Thermos Cup. By Lord Eraendall

You may ignore this below nonsense and go on directly to the story.

A hopefully short story on the short life of a guardsmen.

Oh, I don't own anything gobbo or space marine or easily owned Necron related.

(Laughing madly)I laugh at your pitiful attempts to tarnish the great Imperium of Mankind with your weak...(Spaces marines get blasted by a few Gauss flayers) unbeliveably strong Gauss weaponry...(jumps in Rhino and makes a run for it before being sat on by a teleporting Monolith)

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It was my turn for observation now. Dammit. Stuck out in the freezing cold with nought but a jacket and a failing thermos cup. Ah well. At least the thermos and the liquid inside it saves my skin and the lives of the other 1199 men who live with me. I stare around as I take a few steps into the biting cold and observe a guardsmen foolish enough to take of his glove and accidentally hold his lasgun. I wonder if he was one of the new recruits who haven't been informed of how dangerous it is to hold metal in this temperature. No...no time for that. I take my lasgun from my hurting shoulder and with months of continous trench lookouts, I expertly swing it into my firing hole and begin my hard time outside. Well its not that bad really. I mean it is nice to get some fresh air (if you can call it fresh) instead of hauling your weight around fixing the cavalry. And its a good opportunity to have a nice chat with the other guardsmen before a sergeant shouts at you to get back to duty. But then again I already miss the comforting warmth (if you call 5 degrees above freezng point warm) of my bunker. The monotone landscape I am viewing is distracted by a small jet streaking dangerously low above my head and roars down and begins its descent towards a landing point... Its a Valkyrie bearing the insignia of the Imperial Guard.  
Four things could happen now.

The Valkyrie could be full of nice dehydrated food, supplies, reinforcements, and Emperor forbid... commandeered by a lot of bloody traitors looking for a death or glory charge deep behind enemy lines.

The very bloody reason why Imperial Command decided a few divisions of men...me included will be stuck in some barren wasteland for the next few months. My attention shifts back into this reality and I look at what in the name of the Emperor might be unloaded from this Valkyrie.

Well... It was actually a mixture of the first three options. A few crates there and there and a mumbling lot of Whiteshields. Ok. Not that bad. The sergeant who just told me off for drinking from my thermos and not looking out for traitors now heads towards the group of conscripts.

I suppose the sergeant is now saying the notorious 'welcoming' and 'friendly words of arrival at this base.

My thoughts are comfirmed as a conscript falls down after being addressed rather loudly and rudely by the sergeant.

A bell resonates clearly through the frost-bitten air...my shift is over. At last. I hook my lasgun back on my webbing and begin the short trudge back to my relatively warm bunker. It takes a few tries for the door to open but once it is I defiantly leap over to my bed and land on a once elaborate house of cards... A few stunned faces look at the house and then at me but I for once feel good. More reinforcements usually mean less shifts outside and yes... that probably does mean we are losing in this Emperor-damned war. A low growl brings me from the states of my subconcious mind and informs me that I have without any fore-thoughts flattened my platoons house of cards. I reply that it was crap anyway...which ends in a few punchs landing on me but once the news of reinforcements escapes my mouth they end their futile punches and they turn into a series of collective groans. Oh... thats right. Reinforcements also mean in the world of Imperium 'Another strategic venture into possible hostile territory'. Emperor-damned euphemisms. Yeah, the attempts to punch me fail after that miserable announcement, but hey, thats less bruises for me. After several minutes of lounging around in my bed, I decide that my overly short life is best not spent in a grey bed so I none too gently jump off my bed and head off in search of the distant aromas of dehydrated kophee roots and some hopefully good cowel steak.

A few days later...

'Guardsmen!'

'you have assembled here for briefing for a strategic venture into possible hostile territory. As you know, we have recieved reinforcements a couple of days ago and IG command and intel suggests we conduct another strike at the rebel-held city. As you know, that city has been a damned piece of shit in the upcoming campaign to take the west continent back...' the comissar paused, took a sip from his not so banged up thermos and continued 'IG and the remnants of the PDF have searched through holofiles and they've found out about the mass storage of foodstuff and other material that will help us and yeah, fill your damn stomachs up. Ok, usually the strike at this city would involve a standard siege with Imperial artillery divisions, but the damn tank divisions and...the artillery company are stuck in the big mudflats south of here so you'll have to slug it out on foot and take the city yourself'

The captain pauses and then says

'Ok! GUardsmen! Report to your platoon officer and after that get your equipment from the quartermaster. Remember, we assemble for attack at 2100. Ok guardsmen, 2nd Platoon has to hold Objective...'

2nd Platoon has to hold Objective 2, a hill, until 1st and 3rd Platoon can reach it. Then a massed attack near the west gates by all forces and whatever vehicles we can muster. Thats what me and 31 more men have to do. Capture a hill and wait out for the others to catch up try to bust the city gates and storm the city. Basically a suicide mission when considering the gates are triple layer admantium with force shields copied directly from one of those Imperial Navy battleships...

Ok..now to the friggin quartermaster. Nice guy, but he once caught me trying to get some 'extra' food. We never got on well after that. Surprisingly, he welcomes me quite graciously and gives a few more clips of ammo then usual. Hmmm. After I assemble at the mass of men at the bottom of the bunker.

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It all starts of rather well with Sidney stumbling a few times and pissing his pants (piss does freeze!) but after we get off to a nice rythmn and start marching towards Hill 2 everything is as smooth as a well-oiled confabulator.

After a few hours of marching the bright moon of Cimmere is now at its peak and casts a soft glow to the surroundings. The snow now silently drifts between gentle drafts of air. Its a pity a serene place like this could be stained with blood. I am pulled rather forcifully from my dreams when the sergeant in command of our group halts and everybody bumps in to me. Ah well. The sergeant motions for us to lie down and wield our lasguns...as he thinks he saw something approaching. I take aim in my illegally bought scope and search the surroundings for any bastards intent on ruining my potentially short life. A few bushes, long grasses...oddly shaped rock, hmm...The things that our sergeant saw was 3rd Platoon...

After our sergeant is properly reprimanded by 2nd Platoon for his inept sighting we set off once more. The ground is becoming more softer and marshier. So 2nd platoon is now in the marsh...Kakarot voxs command that we have reached the marshes. Another vox-cast comes from command. Objective two...rendezous with all nearby Leman Russ squads and try to group together before marching to the traitor held hive. The stuck Leman Russ's?... we had better not get another objective to pull the stuck Leman Russ's from the marsh...I doubt even one of those Adeptus Astartes could. Oh well.

A few hours later...

The reeds try to entangle me in their twisted roots but I'm likelier to drown in the emperor forgotten shite-inundated marshes...Sergeant Rilling stops and motions again at a bogged Leman Russ. Sidney the sees something move near the Leman Russ and shoulders his battered lasgun. I follow suit and go into a more inconspicious position...the figures near the tank shift slowly and my first gut instinct is that something isn't right. And its oddly silent too, and if anything, the soft glow of the moon has dimmed, and we can barely see our frost-bitten hands in front of us. But the remaining light still makes out the ominous silhouettes skulking around the Leman Russ. Gyran and Ervin look into their infrared sights of their heavy weapons. Gyran, into his illegal rangefinder and Ervin into the scope scavenged from a burnt out Chimaera.

After a few moments of pure silence, Gyran whispers something into Ervins ear and they both nod their heads by a few fractions of a centimetre. They then both signal in unison to Rilling that the silhouettes trudging around the shell are probably patrol or reconnaissance groups sent out by the traitors. Rilling responds with a nod and a silently mouthed 'damn...'

Kakarot voxs in to Command that a sighting of enemies secured in the mudflats has been verified by a sergeant and then puts in a request for a spontaneous assault. But before the vox even starts on its millisecond race to Command, volleys of mass-reactive shells send great pillars of mud flying around my squad. All hell breaks loose. I stumble in the great voids left by the bolts and dodge the chunks of human flesh that lie sinking in the turbulent mud. Noticing a small bastion of grass and dry soil, I leap at it, and bring my lasgun to bear on these traitors. Gyran quickly notices me and lunges for my safety. Around us two, things keep on getting worse. Hails of lasers score the air into little holes and the bolt shells from the other side rip our platoon up. Explosions ringing in my ears, I leap up and wielding my bayonet, land it deep into a throat daubed with acrid unguents and empty rounds into a frothing maniac. Rilling, punctured by multiple wounds staggers over and falls on the body of Kakarot. Voices keep going in the background.

And then smoke. Not the thin clear smoke you get when lounging around and drinking too close to the basilisks, but thick heavy smoke when the basilisks jamm and you have to help with clearing it up because you were the nearest person there. And when basilisks jam...well they do a bloody good job of it as well. The smoke curls around my legs like some bloody reptile from those catachan worlds. And it stings my eyes so bad I can barely see because of the amount of tears. And the a frothening traitor, eyes wide open charges straight into me. He wrestles into me with extreme force and I feel several the flak jacket crack under the immense pressure. And to make matters worse, my lasgun is flung into a bloody melee between Gyran and two crazed rebels. The lasgun falls into Gyrans hands and he unleashes a spray of las-shots that punch mine and his opponents into the ground. Mine looks up weakly and then he dies.

I quickly run off to find my next target.

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That was a bit odd. Getting into a scrap before the main event (taking the city starts is not good for overly planned plans. Please read and ...not review but if you feel bothered enough to tell as to what I should have done with this story go ahead. Flames are welcome as long as they help me realise one of my shortcomings 


	2. Chapter 2

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There's a time in every life of a guardsman, where assuming the guardsman is a man, that :

To have NOT splurged on that rather expensive bio-engineered Hudson Pinepear Wine.

To have NOT gone to that rather enticing red-light district and to have NOT spent all his pay on that even more enticing girl.

Because he needed all that money to buy a better flak jacket as the need for one demonstrated in the next paragraph.

Dammit. I was really starting to doubt the more higher levels of concentration in my brain when I was partying in Eimpyre-1. Dammit. Why the hell, why the Emperor-damned hell did I waste my money on those things. Why not a flak jac...

But I had to focus on the bloody scrap going on in this Emperor-forsaken mudflat. I'd risk my rather short life if I didn't make sure if at least 50 of all shots zipping around everywhere missed me. I glanced around for any traitor I could take on without harming myself but I couldn't. I didn't have to. A bloody traitor runs up to me and stabs at my flailing arms with strangely enough a imperial commanders blade and severs one of the main arteries in my arm. I howl and swear instinctively and fall on the ground. I try to lash at anyone coming close to me but the traitor keeps on trying to skewer me with his blade.

It then embeds itself in a not so blood-soaked island of clay.

I can see the bloodshot eye of the traitor above me as he realizes he has lost his only chance of survival. And then, momentarily a raw instinctive human emotion, most probably fear and cruel realization flashes through his face as he understands that he's got seconds to live.

I grasp his blade and kci khis more sensitive parts before running through him with the blade but not before I catch a glimpse of his pupil's contracting.

I twist around on the spot as I hear a cry coming from somewhere. Ervin, dammit is potentially close to being administered the Emperors Forgiveness. I turn and run for the traitor trying to do so but before I do so, two words, the last human voice from the traitor I had just sliced echoes across the battlefield.

'Sorry Yvonne...'

I run towards Ervin who's pinned down by a traitor with head partially twisted. With the bayonet in hand I hack at the bony extrusions that are grotesquely jutting out from his neck. A viciously attack the exposed neck and realizing I'm just grating the bone slash underneath the neck.

A decent sized spurt of blood fountains into the space I was occupying moments ago.

'Hey! Thank's man!'

'My duty!'

'WATCH OUT!'

Another scythe of shells ripped into the now blood-soaked mud and started flinging it in great big bloody balls of it. I was caught off guard by this sudden fusillade of bullets. I tried running to the left but almost suddenly I knew I had taken the bloody route to death. The slow line of fire seemed to accelerate towards my escape route. In a futile gesture I charged towards the source of the barrage. Ervin had second thoughts about following me, cringed and turned right.

A slug punched into my flak jacket, made a mockery of the compressed but tattered plas-steel and when I thought I would be receiving the Emperors Forgiveness at a young age, the slug made a rather imposing dent in my thermos cup.

Thank the not-so merciful Emperor.

Another slug shredded my arm and the last thing I felt before the blackness took me was that this would have been what the traitor had felt.

Everything was lost to me.

And unlike a game of poker, there was no chance of taking it back.

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Lord Eraendall: HA Ha ha. That's what you get for taking MY wine.

Yet to be named protagonist: That's not nice. You know, that fake blood takes a million washes to come off and my washer has only a few more spins in it left.

Lord Eraendall: If you think that's bad...

Servitor: ExCuSe Me. PrOtOcOl SiTuAtIoN 4987654981984

Lord Eraendall and Yet to be named protagonist: o O

Servitor: DiAgNoSiNg LaNgAuGe SiTuAtIoN

Lord Eraendall and Yet to be named protagonist: o O

Servitor: Yo Home-dogs wassup!

Lord Eraendall and Yet to be named protagonist: o O

Servitor: Yo Pimp Lords are getting on this thing and aren't getting hot!

Lord Eraendall and Yet to be named protagonist: o O

Lord Eraendall: Ohh. Thankyou servitor. You may go now.

Yet to be named protagonist: Huh? Pimp lords? What? The newest bling-bling 2006 demon model from Slaanesh?

Lord Eraendall: Pimp lords! Where! Ohhhh. I mean the Inquisitors

You know, the really puffed of popinjays?

Yet to be named protagonist: groan (Goes of and buys more washing powder and a new washing machine)

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'Lord Inquisitor Dedalgus, Pysker- Ronin wishes for an audience..'

'Grant him an audience then...'

'Yes my lord...'

'Send Pysker-Ronin in...'

'Hail, Lord Inquisitor Dedalgus...'

'Greetings Pysker- Ronin...I take it that you wish for an audience? What brings you here to my chamber?'

'Yes milord, I do seek an audience. I wish to tell you that the sanctioned pyskers in my command, Pysker- Ceani's sanctioned pyskers and herself, and me included have all been experiencing an increased activity in the warp storms currently surrounding Cimerre.'

'Cimerre you say?'

'Yes milord...why?'

'Cimerre, dear Pysker- Ronin is rumored to hold xeno artifacts rather attractive to the Adeptus Mechanicus...and Ordos Xenos.'

'Archaotech forbidden by the laws of the Ordos Hereticus?'

'Perhaps...Yes it is a full possibility Pysker- Ronin. But what interests me is that you and Ceani's pyskers, and yourselves included have been experiencing, or at least feeling the presence of these artifacts...was the presence of them malicious or very powerful?'

'Lord Inquisitor Dedalgus, I cannot say truly what I felt. However I feel compelled to tell you that whatever the archaotech this may be, you may do well to assemble your stormtroopers and call in for a company of Grey Knights. Ceani thinks so too.'

'Pysker- Ronin...you full well know how serious a situation must be for the Grey Knights to be called for. And it would most probably take the life of one of our most gifted Astropaths to send the message across the warp storm we are now in. And Ceani thinks so too?...however it is true that the disturbance of the warp has been rather...odd to say the least. I shall send for a company of Space Marines...If the situation escalates...which I full well hope it will not...you maybe right. Maybe the Grey Knights must be called in.'

'Is that all Pysker- Ronin ?'

'No, Milord.  
I have also received news of a Imperial Guard Regiment currently tasked with taking back the city situated near the southern continent of Cimerre. To put it bluntly, there are losing.'

'Really? We may have to assist them. But it should prove worthy for us o help them. It may help us in finding the cause of the disturbance in the warp, and if necessary, eliminating it.'

'True...true...milord'

'Is there anything else you may wish to seek in this audience Pysker- Ronin?

'No, Milord, that is all. I have already ouldone my audience...'

'Very well, you may leave, but before you do, remember to inform me of the coordinates of the nearest Adeptus Astartes...'

'Yes, Inquisitor Lord Dedalgus.'

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The first thing I did was savagely attack the shadow floating across my face, only to realize that I had futilely pushed away a nurse tending to me. Dammit. She's just looking at me as if I were the poorest thing in the world. I had thought she was a traitor. I eventually realize that after glancing around me, I can see a rather small portion of my platoon in beds. I shift my attention back to the nurse. However, my drugged up mind, and the dim light affects my eyes so badly I can only see the beautiful face of an Sisters Hospitalliar. That look in her brown eyes just brings up something in me. And so, despite the fact that a dim light of the lamp is above me, I try to sit up and get a closer look.

I knock myself unconscious on the hard lamp instead.

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I wake up again, feeling positively refreshed and restored. I carefully make sure there are no lamps in the proximity of my head and after doing so, allow myself to sit up. I yawn and see the early sun of Cimerre shining through a window somewhere. Ervin is sipping away contently at a drink while Ruysho is still sleeping.

The downside to this is that most of us are probably crippled and will never fight or live life to its fullest again. But still. After what happened at the Emperor-damned melee, I'm glad to be here, lying underneath brilliantly warm sheets. Just thankful to the Emperor of Mankind for keeping me alive after that bloody slaughter.

My memory flashes back to when the pupil of the traitor contracted and his last human remnant was the last words to his wife, or girlfriend. Before I killed him.

Then I remember why I am here...the observation post, the house of cards, the friggin euphemism, and then the most probably failed assault on the traitor-held city. I know what happened to 2nd platoon.

Most of us got killed when we tried to take out some traitors near a burnt-out Leman Russ before taking the city back. But what about 1st platoon and 3rd platoon?. and the crews of the stuck Leman Russ's? They are probably dead. And the mumbling lot of Whiteshields. They wouldn't have had a chance.

Rilling, Kakarot, Gyran, Sidney...the rest of 2nd platoon dead.

Why? Why!

Then, the same nurse I saw last night, or last last night walks up to me holding something.

Now in the sunlight, as she walks towards me, I can see her beautiful features and tresses of hair that fall beneath her shoulders. And her eyes, so full of pity where they last or whatever night it happened to be are now full a mischievous yet happy nature. It's never failed to impress me how, after a battle, you tend to immensely appreciate small details like these.

Her slender form walks to my bed and holds out two familiar items.

Despite the chest pain, I let out a chuckle.

I can see a flak jacket, all sewn up with new plas-steel inserts and a thermos cup still dented but shiny, and a small but amusing smile on the nurse's face.

Maybe, just maybe, this is why we fight.

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Ok. So that was a bit short. I do have a Music Scholars recital and the camp as well as a math test and upcoming history work. And yes it was rather unconventional. I will assure you there maybe a bit of hormones here and there but as guardsmen, they're expected to be concentrated on killing traitors and not... NOT women. And Lord Inquisitor Dedalgus... you may just have to wait to find out... The protagonist will also get a name...don't worry. The weird servitor has also been summarily executed.

And as usual, review if you like, flame if you want and email if you must but it has to in some way help me improve. Even if its like,

'usespellchecker'

So on and so forth.


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